


All Cats Are Gray in the Dark

by prozacplease



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: And he peddles kittens to other Daredevil characters, Animals, Cats, Dogs, F/M, Fluff, Frank is basically a huge softie, Gen, Just imagine Frank with a trench coat full of cats, Kittens, Wait what was I talking about?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8345350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prozacplease/pseuds/prozacplease
Summary: Frank rescues a litter of kittens.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I rewatched Daredevil S2 and fell in love with Frank Castle. I ship Frank/Karen but I'm new to the pairing and didn't know how to work it in, so it's just kind of implied/platonic here. I also hope you can forgive me for the ambiguous timeline. Just focus on the kitties. :) 
> 
> Also, the kittens and dog are named after words in the [ NATO phonetic alphabet,](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/NATO_phonetic_alphabet) which is a military thing Frank would be familiar with from his days in the Marines.

Sunrise in Hell’s Kitchen is like turning on the lights in a roach-infested apartment. All the scumbags go skittering for the dark corners and hide out until nightfall. That’s why Frank Castle—apparently known as the Punisher these days—doesn’t leave his hideout until the sun goes down. It’s setting earlier and earlier this time of year; the summer humidity is gone out of the air and he’s starting to see Halloween decorations in storefronts. He tries to keep his mind from drifting to thoughts of trick-or-treating or helping his wife check their kids’ loot for razorblades and shit.

Most days it feels like everything reminds Frank of his family. It’s what drives him to do what he does. He is walking through an alley, strapped down with guns, when he hears cats meowing. Not an unusual sound in a dark alley, but it’s not the scream of adult cats fighting or fucking. It’s soft, tiny mews. Crying kittens.

The sound is enough to make Frank’s heavy, steel-toed footfalls slow to a stop. The kittens sound like they’re underneath a nearby dumpster and Frank pulls out his black Maglite to investigate. He has to get down on his knees to shine the flashlight under the dumpster. It’s there that he spies a small litter of kittens—he thinks there are four—nestled on a filthy piece of cardboard. They’re tiny lumps with squinting eyes, hardly a week old. Momma cat is nowhere in sight.

Frank turns off the flashlight and stands up. He feels a twinge of pity for them and a desire to tuck them into his jacket and take them home. Although it’s pretty damn late in the year for kittens, he’s certain that their mom will come back. He decides that if they’re still alone when he returns, he’ll consider taking them in.

The kittens are forgotten while he spends the evening looking for answers. He asks questions with both bullets and his bare hands. And if an unfortunate member of the cartel or the mob can’t tell him what he wants, he makes them wish they had. But the satisfaction is superficial. Frank aches, and the pain is worse than any punch or cut he may receive. He knows it won’t go away, even after he has his answers. It’s bone deep and terminal.

It’s sprinkling when Frank makes his way back through the alley in the early morning hours. He’s battered and exhausted, but satisfied with how his evening went. He killed some creeps, even though he still has more questions than answers. Frank doesn’t find much joy in anything these days, but he is looking forward to petting the dog he rescued, taking a shower, and having some coffee.

Rain is pattering on the grimy pavement and the plastic lids on the dumpsters. The sound of the light precipitation is pierced by urgent meowing as Frank nears one of the dumpsters. The kittens. Despite being beaten bloody and maybe having a few cracked ribs, Frank pulls his flashlight out again and lays down on his front with a soft grunt. The kittens are still on the piece of cardboard, but their tiny mews have become distressed.

Frank reaches under the dumpster and, one by one, pulls the tiny kittens from under it. They are so little that he could easily carry two in each of his big, thick hands.

“Where’s yer mama?” he asks them. “It’s okay. I gotcha.”

He shines his flashlight under the dumpster to make sure he didn’t miss an extra kitten, and does a thorough search of the alley for their mother. No such luck. He tucks the crying, squirming babies into his jacket and walks back to the apartment where he’s been laying low.

It’s not very cozy, but it doesn’t need to be. Frank doesn’t notice unimportant details like exposed ductwork and crumbling brick walls. He has his guns and ammo, his police radio, and food. There is a shower and a bed. It’s nothing more than a place to sleep and scheme.

When he opens the door, he is greeted by the gray pitbull chained in the corner. She is whining happily and wagging her tail so hard that her whole body is wriggling.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says.

The dog jumps up on her hind legs and barks with excitement. Frank wants to tend to the kittens right away, but the dog won’t calm down until he lets her loose and gives her some attention.

“All right, all right,” he mutters to her as he unclips her collar. “Ya miss me?”

She yips in response and practically jumps into his arms. After he gives her a few pats, she becomes aware of the kittens Frank is holding against his chest. Her docked ears perk up and she starts sniffing at his jacket.

“Yeah, I got some little kitties… Hey, be gentle,” Frank says quietly.

He’s not quite sure how this abused dog will react to helpless little kittens, so he keeps them covered with his jacket while she investigates. Frank is cautious, although she seems excited rather than aggressive. She follows him over to the bed, where he lays down with the kittens tucked against him. They are crying because they are hungry, but Frank is more worried about them being cold. Hypothermia could easily kill them.

He opens his jacket to look at them—four damp furballs huddled together between his pecs. Two gray tabbies and two orange tabbies. One of the gray tabbies has a white chest and one of the orange tabbies has white socks. Their eyes are just barely open.

“At least I’ll be able to tell ya apart,” he says to them.

His dog is next to the bed, absolutely beside herself from the presence of the kittens. She sniffs and snuffs along the edge of the mattress and tries to see what’s on Frank’s chest. He shoos her gently and halfheartedly before turning his attention back to the kittens.

He doesn’t look like it, but Frank knows a thing or two about abandoned kittens. His mother used to foster them and Frank always got roped into helping, especially during summer vacation. He hasn’t taken care of a litter since he was a teenager, but he finds himself easily remembering what to do. Their paw pads are cold to the touch, as is the inside of their mouths. They need to be warmed before they can be fed.

Frank keeps them snuggled against his chest and covers their little bodies with his warm hands. They seem to calm down while they lie there, hopefully comforted by Frank’s body heat and heartbeat.

The next order of business will be getting them formula. Frank realizes that he’s going to have to feed four kittens every three hours for the next four weeks. It will be an undertaking. But what else does he have to do, besides chase endless strings of dead ends?

It’s not quite dawn when Frank gets his heating pad out and places the kittens on it side by side. It will keep them cozy while he sneaks out to get formula. He’s thankful for 24-hour corner stores like CVS. No one asks questions, although the pharmacist does stare at his bruised face a little too long. Thankfully he only has to deal with the disinterested cashier, and his purchase of a medicine dropper and cans of kitten formula aren’t suspicious in any way.

Frank returns to a cacophony of animal sounds filling his apartment. His dog is going nuts in the corner and the kittens are mewing. Now that they’re warmed up, they can be fed. Frank sits on the edge of the bed with a can of liquid formula and the dropper.

“Come here, baby,” Frank says as he picks up the first wriggling kitten.

He fills the dropper with formula and offers it to the kitten’s tiny mouth. The kitten is so busy crying that it doesn’t seem interested in the formula at first, but Frank doesn’t give up. He squeezes out a drop to give it a taste, and it’s only a moment before the kitten is willing to be fed.

“There you go. Good job,” Frank coaxes. He gently sets the kitten aside and picks up the next one. “One down, three to go.”

He is in the middle of feeding the third kitten when he hears his cellphone buzzing from where it’s plugged in on the counter. Having a cellphone is a liability, as they can be tracked. But this one is a burner and easily destroyed if it’s compromised. He keeps it only to stay in contact with a few people, like Karen. And he knows his phone wouldn’t be ringing if it wasn’t something important. Or so he thinks.

He finishes up with the kitten and sets it down with its siblings. He snatches up the phone on the last ring, recognizing the last four digits of Karen’s number before he answers.

“You’re up early,” he says.

“Headed home actually,” Karen says in that matter-of-fact way she has.

“For a journalist, you keep some weird hours,” he says.

“Just another late night that turned into a very early morning.” Frank can hear the little smile in her voice when she speaks. “Coffee?”

That’s their unofficial codeword. Sometimes it means she has information for him, or she’s just checking in. It’s a strange little dance they’ve been doing. Frank keeps meaning to tell Karen to get lost, that following him around is far too risky. But she isn’t one to shrink away from danger. And he thinks it’s okay to maybe allow himself at least one friend.

“I can’t meet you. You’ll have to come to me,” Frank says.

“Oh, are you all right?” she asks, sounding concerned.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll explain when you get here.”

Frank finishes feeding the kittens and then builds them a nest in an empty cardboard box. He places the heating pad on the bottom and covers it in the softest towel that he has. Once inside, the kittens bunch up next to each other, sleepy now that they’re warm and their tummies are full. He strokes each of their tiny, fuzzy heads before turning his attention to his dog. She is so wiggly when he comes over that he has a hard time putting her leash on. She wants to jump up and give Frank kisses, and he allows her a few before taking her downstairs.

He’s walked her around the block twice before he sees Karen coming down the sidewalk. She is wrapped in a dark blue trench coat, two cups of coffee in hand. He’s amazed by how she walks in heels. His wife hated them and always teetered with small, delicate steps when she wore them. But Karen moves like she’s wearing a pair of sneakers.

“Morning,” she says, handing over his coffee.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Frank says it only to get a rise out of her.

Karen rolls her eyes, bright blue and bothered. “I’m not a _ma’am_. That’s makes me feel old.”

“ _Miss_ , then,” he says, smirking before he takes a sip of the coffee.

“How about just my name?”

“Karen.” Another sip, longer now that he’s acclimated to the temperature. He scrunches his nose. “Or maybe Scoops? Since you're a reporter and all.”

Karen’s exasperation is just for show, and she focuses on the dog that is obediently heeled next to Frank. “Hi, puppy!” she says sweetly. That gets the dog happy and wagging. “Are you why we couldn’t meet somewhere civilized?”

“Nope, somethin’ else,” Frank says, turning to lead her to where he stays. “I’ll show you.”

“What happened to your face?” she asks.

She is no doubt referring to the fresh bruises he hasn’t even looked at yet. Might even have a split lip with the way his face zings when he smiles.

“The usual.”

His apartment, by no means inviting, is a place that Karen has never been. Not because he doesn’t want her around, but because her knowing about his hideout puts her in danger. She looks out of place as she stands there while he takes the dog’s leash off. She is on Karen in an instant, sniffing her bare legs and looking for pets. Frank grabs her collar when she starts to rear up on her hind legs.

“No jumping,” he says firmly.

“Oh, it’s okay. Hi, puppy, hi,” Karen says, petting her. “Have you named her yet?”

“No. I’m not sure if I can keep her.”

“You’ve kept her this long. She loves you,” Karen says. Her voice changes pitch when she talks to the dog in a soft baby voice. “Hello, sweet puppy…”

Frank just gives a noncommittal grunt. He loves that damn dog, but she needs more attention. It’s hard to believe that such a sweet dog was used for fighting. Probably a bait dog because she couldn’t be provoked.

“This is why I couldn’t go very far,” he says, nodding toward the cardboard box next to the bed. “More mouths to feed.”

Karen is still petting the dog as she walks over, heels clacking quietly on the wood floor. She gasps. “Kitties!” she cries softly. “Oh, my God… They’re so little.”

“Found ‘em under a dumpster in the alley last night. Not sure what happened to the mom,” he says.

Karen sets down her purse and kneels on the floor. She is completely enraptured as she reaches into the box to pet them. “So cute. Oh, Frank, you saved them,” she says.

Frank is reminded of his daughter, who squealed when their neighbor let her hold their new puppy one time. He shrugs, uncomfortable with any notion that he’s done something noble. Instead he focuses on the dog, who is right next to Karen and trying to stuff her head into the box.

“Hey, hey,” he says, tugging her back.

“Oh, she’s okay. She’s just curious,” Karen says. “She was sniffing.”

“Yeah, I’m worried she smells snacks.”

Frank sits on the edge of the bed and tries to keep his dog distracted. But, much like Karen, she’s obsessed with the kittens.

“Well, hold one close and let her sniff. She doesn’t seem aggressive,” Karen says.

She pulls one of the gray tabby kittens out of the box and hands it to Frank. The tiny thing peeps and squirms, wanting to be held close. Karen makes a soft noise of her own—almost the same pitch as the kitten—when she takes in the sight of Frank holding it to his chest.

“You wanna see the baby?” he asks the dog. “You gotta be gentle.”

He holds the kitten securely in his hands and lets the dog investigate. She comes in close, ears perked as she starts to sniff. Her nose roves over the kitten, snuffling every part of its body. The dog is excited, but Frank can’t sense any aggression. The kitten mews when the dog’s cold nose is buried in its fur.

“Okay, okay, you’re gonna snuff it up yer nose,” he says, moving the kitten out of reach. “You love the babies, huh?”

The dog wags her tail, almost whacking Karen with it. She is still kneeling on the floor, eyes bright with amusement.

“What?” Frank asks her.

“Nothing! Just… You’re sweet.”

“That’s some serious bullshit, Scoops,” he says. He sets the kitten back in the box with its siblings and reaches for his coffee, wanting to drink it before it gets cold. Fatigue is pulling at him, but caffeine will keep him going for a while longer.

Karen smirks at him and pets the dog a moment. Soon they’re both looking at the kittens again.

“You need to name these too,” she says, pulling one out to hold and pet.

“Hell no, they ain’t stayin’.”

“Are you going to find homes for them?” she asks.

“Yeah, I won’t turn ‘em back out.” He takes a sip of coffee, scrunches his nose again. “Why, you want one?”

Karen is quiet for a moment as she strokes at the orange kitten in her arms. Frank can tell she’s already in love with it just by the look in her eyes.

“Can I have one?” she asks.

Frank nods. “Pick of the litter.”

Karen smiles, and it’s like sunshine peeking through rainy clouds. “Maybe I can pawn one off on Foggy, too.”

“As long as he takes care of it.”

“Most of the people I know are too busy for pets,” Karen says. She kisses the top of the kitten’s head. “But it’s nice to have something to come home to.”

Those words make Frank ache a little. He knows that feeling all too well. Sometimes the only thing that gets him back to his apartment is knowing that he has the dog waiting for him.

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

It’s a few weeks before the kittens are big enough to eat solid food and go to other homes. By that time, they’re strong and playful and getting into all sorts of trouble. So Frank is ready for them to go, even though he’s feeling attached to them. Against better judgement, he’s given them names. Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta.

Bravo, the gray tabby with a white chest, goes to Foggy. An ER nurse named Claire takes Alpha, the orange tabby with white socks. And Karen takes Delta, the other orange kitten with eyes as blue as her own. That leaves Charlie. He’s gray striped with a white chin, and looks like he’s going to be long-haired. Frank is adamant that he’s going to find a home for him. But Charlie has cute little tufts of fur on his ears, and Frank gets a kick out of him running around the apartment. He decides it’s only fair to name the dog too, and he decides on Juliet.

They play like crazy and keep each other company when Frank is gone at night. Charlie sleeps on his head while Juliet keeps him trapped on his side by sleeping behind his knees. Whether Frank is sleeping or picking off drug lords, a cat and a dog aren’t the most practical for him. But he can’t get rid of them. Karen was right. It’s nice to have something to come home to.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  [Come hang out with me on Tumblr!](http://www.prozacplease.tumblr.com)
> 
> ♥ Comments are always appreciated. ♥


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